The Diverging Way
by Demeter1
Summary: This is Akito. This is Ayame. And this is a bit of their story.


**"The Diverging Way"**

Demeter

**Disclaimer:** All rights and privileges of Fruits Basket characters, objects and plots are property and trademarks of Takaya Natsuki and associated parties. The author claims no legal responsibility for problems associated with using this work. The original story, relationships, and characters found within the fic are property of the author Demeter.

**Rating:** PG

**Characters:** Akito, Ayame

**Notes:** Prequel to the manga/anime.

* * *

There was a fine breeze dancing over the porch and the warm, late spring wind was fluttering pleasantly around the open room. The garden was in full bloom with a bouquet of colours ranging from a dark red that looked almost black in the shade to the sheerest pinks that dangled on the edge of soft white. A gathering of birds were in free reign and strategically-placed feeders filled with expensive birdfeed provided a changing variety and feast. Swallows, doves, bluebirds, robins, tiny hummingbirds, even ravens and crows – they were all guests and whether out of some instinctual reverence or innate knowledge, they chose to take care of their business outside in the streets instead of within the walls.

Akito was sitting on the edge of the wooden terrace, a dark blue kimono wrapped somberly and elegantly around her tiny frame. There was an equally tiny bird chirping on her finger and she was speaking to it as if the bird knew everything in the world. Which it might have, for all he knew about animals. Ayame was in the process of bringing in a long rack of different pieces of clothing he had made to her size and he couldn't help but want to gush over how pretty she looked sitting there with no one but the birds to flurry about. Akito was like a gorgeous picture caught in motion.

Until she opened her mouth and spoke with lips carved with pale. "Do quiet your babbling, Ayame and show me what you have."

He beamed, ignoring the sharper words and instead, focused on the way her eyes were not-quite glued to the rack and how they ran almost hungrily over the soft silks and subtle colors dancing in and out of the morass. Her face was thin, her shoulders a sharp picture against the dull browns of her formal study room. The vibrant colors of Ayame's creations seemed out of place. "While I would love to take all the credit, Akito, I'm proud to say I had much help from the family seamstress!"

Akito arched an eyebrow in irritation. "That was obvious. You couldn't have possibly made all these yourself."

"But in the near future, all your clothes will be hand sewn by me!" Ayame struck a pose, the eagerness rolling off of him in waves. "You won't lack for anything!"

"Of course, I won't. I'm your God, aren't I?" Akito sniffed delicately. "You belong to me and I live for you."

Coming from Akito, it couldn't sound anything but reasonable and right. Ayame also knew that Akito was only repeating verbatim what others had told her and didn't really anything she was saying. Akito was an intelligent child, but she wasn't smart.

But all he said was, "Always," before pulling the rack over to where Akito was seated. This time around, Ayame felt rather pleased. Ms. Hino, the elderly seamstress who'd worked for the family nearly fifty years, had praised him. He had been surprised when she'd nodded to the deep reds he'd selected. Not a word or even a severe look; just wrinkled smiles and queer looks that reminded Ayame that she'd made clothing for the previous Head. But shouldn't she have stopped him, because surely she knew about Ren's decision?

Time for thinking could come later, though, since Akito was staring at hanger after hanger of robes and suits, and Ayame didn't think he could ever be happier than seeing the softly luminescent glow in Akito's cheeks that the girl herself probably didn't realize was there. He could see that while she was ostensibly looking at them all, there was a particular suit (though Ayame was being generous with the word) made from dark burgundy brocade that she kept sneaking furtive looks at.

Fingering the sleeve of the robe, Ayame stole a look at the tightly-closed door, wondering how much time he would have before someone came in to check on them.

He looked at Akito, looked at the door again, then pulled the piece from its hanger and held it up to the sunlight. "It's lovely, isn't it?"

The girl didn't say anything, eyes following the lines of the fabric slowly, drinking in the exquisite embroidery of soft silver that depicted the entire zodiac. Ayame could see her lips form silent words around the words as she repeated them all, _rat, ox, tiger, rabbit, dragon, snake, horse, sheep, monkey, rooster, dog, boar_, a tiny feather lifting each time she repeated a name of a beloved animal. It was an awkward look for her thin face.

Ayame loved it so much.

But the moment was broken too soon, a bird whistled out on the veranda, footsteps echoed distantly, and the gate to Akito's eyes slammed shut as a scowl bent its way to her lips.

"It's red, Ayame. You know I don't like red." She looked at him accusingly, as if he had made the outfit out of pure spite.

"Better than pink, no?"

She cast a long, hot glare. "What are you those **hideous** things at the collar?"

"Ruffles, of course! They're the latest rage."

"They're ugly."

"They're the color of cream, and they'll look wonderful against your skin." Ayame admired the pale hollow of Akito's throat.

She brought a thin hand to her forehead, as if a headache was bubbling under the surface. "I told you. Nothing but blue; you know very well what Ren said." Ayame knew very well. It had nothing to do with blue.

"Yes, but blue is not a good colour, not nearly good enough for you, Akito!"

She scowled, even though Ayame could tell that he had pleased and sweetened her mood. Waving it back, she said, "Next."

With a melodramatic sigh, Ayame pulled his next creation off the rack. "What about this one? The gold finish gives it a sheer shine that will make you glow under almost any light." He actually thought it was a little overstated for Akito, but the Head had a tradition of dressing not quite like anyone else during formal occasions.

Akito perused the long coat that seemed to have fifty belts. "And why, if I may ask, does it have so many belts?"

Well, Ms. Hino had said _like no one else_. "It's the newest theme this year!"

"Belts." It sounded so silly when Akito repeated him in that flat tone of hers.

"Yes."

There was a short pause and then in a tone of utter exasperation, she said, "No. Next."

"Really Akito – they would all look utterly captivating on you. It's the person that makes the clothing. Or at least, it is in your case." There was an almost-adoration that shone in Ayame's eyes, and a slender arm reached out to caress Akito's neck. Sensitive to any form of physical touch, Akito unconsciously leaned in to Ayame. All but abandoning his clothing, the Snake spent the next few moments literally grooming Akito until her hair lay smooth as glass against her head and her cheeks were flushed with pleasure.

Eyes drooping a little, Akito asked, "What else is there?"

"Well, since this will be the suit you wear for the next monthly dinner, I wanted it to be splendidly elegant that conveyed a sense of leadership and beauty." He paused and then rather slyly, asked, "How about a navy suit gathered tight at the waist with slightly tapered slacks? I'll use merino wool of course, but so that it won't irritate your skin, I'll line it with silk."

Akito sniffed. "That sounds so girly and ugly."

"Yes, but you are a girl, aren't you?"

"Ayame!" She looked around instinctively and then hissed, "You do not say things like that! Mother knocked Hatori in the head last week for..." Akito bit her lip as she trailed off. "Don't say it anymore." She paused and then added irrelevantly, "I forbid it, you hear?"

The corner of Ayame's mouth quirked up in an almost-smile. Akito wouldn't look at the clothier, but Ayame could have told her that there was no one here to tell her what to do, that the only eyes looking upon her person were her Juunishi and no, he'd never _never_ betray her. But for it to be of any use, it would've had to be a promise, and Ayame made a point of never making promises he wasn't sure he could keep.

He ran his fingers through her hair. "I won't anymore."

"Of course you won't. I already said you wouldn't." She hesitated. "And you'll listen to me, right?"

"I will."

"And you love me?"

"I do." Ayame had never fathomed _not_ loving Akito.

"And you'll always love me?"

Though it was a promise, it was a promise Ayame felt he could keep. "I'll always love you."

"You love me and you'll listen to me," Akito said, almost to herself.

"Yes."

"Shigure doesn't listen to me," Akito said suddenly.

"Doesn't he? I'm sure he does."

"But he's always saying things that can't be said." Akito's eyes flickered toward the door. "And he's always talking back at Ren. That makes her angry."

Ayame only smiled. "It's just Shigure's way of acting. You know how he feels."

"I do?"

He clapped his hands. "Oh my, yes."

"So..." She studied her fingers. "Everyone loves me."

_shouting so much shouting he was dead she was screaming **crash** she threw her weight against the door **pieces** all over the ground she stared up and down it was too much she reached out **hands** so pale she grasped a tiny **throat** gasp gasp **gasp** and he pushed her away and grabbed **her** and ran ran **ran**_

Ayame wanted to put into words the way he saw Shigure watching Akito when the girl didn't know he was looking. He wanted to tell her the times Shigure chattered on about when she took her first step, when she first smiled, when she said her first word ("Papa"), when she first bruised, when she first screamed, when she first scowled, when she first knocked her head against the wooden frame because she'd mouthed back to Ren the same way as Shigure, the first time she'd played with Hatori's stethoscope, the way she brightened when a Juunishi was born, when she first touched Ritsu and said she loved his hair, when she clapped her hands as Kureno planted camellias, the time she ran into a flock of birds and cried when they ran away, the very last time she ever wore red.

But for all his ability in speaking, Ayame didn't know how to place Akito into words. "Yes."

Akito smiled then, and Ayame felt tremendously relieved. The weight on his chest lifted and he didn't feel any urge to crawl around the floor. That. Was a very good thing.

He lifted the red robe of its hanger again and, rather casually, dropped it into Akito's lap. The girl fingered the cloth as if it was a violent animal, but the cautious petting of fingers used to nothing but books and air removed any doubts Ayame might have had when he'd first stitched the pieces together.

"I do think we have a choice made--"

The door slid open with a terrific crack as the wood splintered by the amount of force used. Ayame started in shock and Akito felt herself freeze, hands still holding the incriminating piece of red. He hadn't even heard the slightest hint of footsteps; it made him wonder how long she might have stood there.

Ren loomed in the doorway and her eyes immediately caught it. In a voice like frozen granite, she asked, "What is that, Akito?"

"It's..." Akito's throat seized. The curse fluttered in her lungs and she couldn't quite breathe. "It's..."

"Clothing?" She all but purred.

"... yes." The sound petulant, choked, and defiant, all at the same time.

"Where did it come from?"

Ayame felt himself tensing. If she knew he had brought it... the image of Shigure wryly fingering his head bandage flashed before him. But...

"I don't know." Akito shook her head.

Eyes narrowed. "You don't know where it came from?"

"No."

"But it's in your lap; who put it there?" The question was like the crack of a whip in the room, and Ayame could see a trickle of sweat roll down the side of Akito's neck.

"And why would you even allow yourself to touch that? It's an _ugly_ color. No one would want to wear it."

Akito only stared up, a tiny scowl on her lips.

"You will be the future head of this family. You will lead them all into fortune. You are a young boy who _will_ learn what that means." The words were laced with bitterness and Ayame had to look down in unforced shame. "Is that understood?"

"... yes."

"Then destroy it."

Very slowly, Akito gracefully rose. Her hands clutched the delicate fabric and all the blood had left her fingernails. They were corpse-white ovals being strangled in a chokehold and Ayame got up hastily with a movement to take the clothing away to rid it in private and away from Akito's eyes.

"Ayame!"

He froze.

"Did I speak to you?"

Miserable, he shook his head. "No, Ren."

"Did I tell you or did I tell Akito to destroy it?"

Ayame couldn't answer, but he didn't have to because Akito swung on Ren and hissed violently, "He's MINE, don't you speak to him like that!"

A silence descended and Ayame wished to the high heavens Hatori or Shigure, or even Kureno were around. They'd know what to do. They'd know how to handle the situation. He couldn't even stand in one place without shaking from the fear and Ren's eyes were burning so darkly in contrast to Akito's enraged shriek.

But all she said was, "Destroy it, Akito. Now." She looked pointedly at the lovely clothing before swinging her gaze to Ayame, who felt a tiny chill run down his spine.

There was a hesitation in Akito's hands that caused a muscle twitch in Ayame's cheek. He couldn't look away from the way that Akito was caressing the fabric, the way she held it close like a baby doll. Ren made an impatient noise that sounded like thunder crashing into the sea. Thin hands pulled the delicate fabric and it stretched, stretch, stretched, until the sound of cloth ripping blanketed everything else out, from Akito's wheezing breath to Ayame's fidgets.

She dropped the ruined suit to the ground and Ren finally not-quite smiled. "What would Akira say here?" She ignored the way Ayame gasped and how Akito stiffened. Thrusting her arm out, she tossed something dark navy and straight, with nary a crease or taper in sight, into the room. "That will be what you will wear, Akito."

Akito licked her dry lips. "Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, mother."

"Good." Leaving the sour aftertaste of her presence to linger in the room, she shut the broken remnant of the door and could be heard barking orders at a servant to find a repairman.

Ayame quickly moved and whisked the ruined outfit off the ground. He thrust it between two heavy robes and made sure every piece was hidden away. He then bent over and shook out the suit Akito would be wearing, and couldn't help but feel the artist in him scoff. It was a wool – the soft and smooth nature did tell him it was expensive, but expense didn't dictate taste – suit that was exceedingly proper and stiff and Ayame couldn't imagine pretty little Akito ever wearing something so...

She was still glaring at the door where Ren had walked away from, and the fury in her eyes made the hairs on Ayame's neck stand up. There was no indication of the child and only a Goddess nearly radiant with unmitigated will stood. He swallowed. The sound must have reached Akito's ears because she relaxed, slowly and by miniscule increments. She paled, as if all the strength was seeping out of her along with the color, and she slid to the ground, a small pile of bones and expensively ugly clothing.

"Akito?"

She didn't answer, and he felt his stomach twist and vomit all over the place.

"Um, Akito?"

"_What_ Ayame?"

"Do you... do you want me to go?" And get Shigure, he mentally added.

"No."

He lapsed into silence and stood there nervously, unsure whether he should call for some hot tea, because Akito certainly looked like she could use something warm in her.

"Ayame."

He turned so fast, his silver hair whipped out in eagerness. "Yes?"

"My new yukata..." She paused.

Her yukata? Ah, yes. Ms. Hino had mentioned a yukata and robe ensemble also being ordered, but they'd set it aside because the formal suit had been deemed so important. He'd made some rough sketches, but considering that his best piece for the suit had been methodically destroyed, he'd forgotten entirely about them.

She'd straightened her back and he could sense a stiffness that couldn't be seen in her innate subtle grace. "You may choose whatever color you like for the outer robe."

He blinked.

"Any color you feel appropriate."

"What? Any color?" Confusion bubbled at his chest.

She snapped, "Yes, you imbecile! Didn't I say it twice already?" Ayame didn't flinch, though he did want to tell her that children didn't say 'imbecile'. They were more likely to call each other 'stupid' or 'dummy'.

"For your outer robes."

Akito nodded tersely.

"Um... any color at all."

Eyes blackened and nostrils flared in irritation, but Akito nodded again.

"Alright."

Ayame wanted to bow. He wanted to scrape his forehead against the floor to beg for forgiveness, for a reason and excuse he didn't know how to explain. He wanted to be brave like Shigure and mouth off at Ren. What could he do for Akito? What had he done?

"I trust your taste." Her words were a little cold, a little distant, a little bit of everything Ayame knew would only grow until the canyon stretching between them was immeasurable. He tried to etch this memory of her into his mind. The tiny figure wrapped up thickly in secrets and lies, face still smooth and untouched by madness that wouldn't last long. Ayame knew, someday, he wouldn't be able to see this Akito anymore and there was a wound in his soul that would never heal.

"... I shall do my best."

This time, his waist bent and with the innate beauty of the Snake, he bowed to the only person he called 'God'.

Before sliding over to the fragile human – _childchildchild_ – representation and held her as the sun set agonizingly slow over the high walls of the Sohma inner compound.

**- fin -**


End file.
